Yessica Teufelstein Alone At Last (excerpts)

Publié le 13 Juillet 2013

for Agnetha, Greta and all the others…

 

Gone seventy-two Yessica Teufelstein had more than long been adulated, followed, assaulted by the maddened crowds she was pulling much too often to her discontent… so much she had become mad herself… madness harassed her now just like they had harassed her all her life…

Is there anything you’d like now Miss ? Anything I can get you ? Anything I can get for you ? her companion would asked again an again… repeated…

No… nothing… thank you nothing… I’m fine… I’ll be fine… thanks…  nothing at all…

Are you sure ? Anything really ?

No really… fine… thanks… or rather peace … just peace… I want to be left in peace… alone… on my own… left… that’s right left… never again be disturbed… I’m disturbed enough as it is… stirred in my peace… rest in peace… rest… forever… left without nothing else but rest…’ she breathed in a deep exhalation of melancholy… as though in her swan song… her plea taking on all the tones of a threnody… lingering in the air… haunting about the place… dreamlike… almost gothic…

 

Twenty years… twenty years ago already… more than twenty years that she had left the world… this world… her world… our world… real stars never really die… but she had in fact died at a very young age… she had been no more than a living dead… a beautiful ghoul come to claim her pound of flesh from the world… Yessica Teufelstein had been back with a vengeance and yet little did the world her world… our world… know of it… no one had ever been able to decipher what haunted… lurked… squatted… skiving deep behind her Mona Lisa like smile… no sense… all but nonsense to most…

 

Sat… squat spider like… bug like in a corner looking out onto a room devoid of her… a stage where nothing ever happened… where she hoped nothing would ever happen again… nothing -and certainly no one- ever took place… the story plotted there displayed nothing but life in limbo… of a bimbo frozen in the time of heyday… never really gone away… never totally gone away… her glazed gaze was a mere still on the world around her… the world about her… seemingly behold the eerie appeal of never ever… an emptiness within which even she melted… blended to disappear in eventually… a décor design to forget better than to remember… rather than to settle in the remembrance of a well fulfilled… a well and richly filled… life…  a mausoleum… a memorial… an amemorial memory of immemorial times… unforgiving times immemorial that would not forget her… lest she forgives…

 

Yessica Teufelstein lived in the sole company of her memories… in the arms of an emptiness… prey to any emptiness… that filled… took over… ate… her whole wide desert of unfathomable solitude… loneliness abode… in a décor was had everything of an anti-décor… a décor that threw itself at your face… defaced with a vision envisioned with the great lack of décor itself… a ready uneasy… an incompressible assault of nothingness onto everything that surrounded… an incomprehensible aggression of non volition of station… ready to swallow you if you only attempted to outstay your welcome… contemplation of destruction…

 

 

All her story… her history… her herstory nullified… could only be the fruition of a cunningly designed to spread… to smear… flagrantly blatantly arrogantly the very things she meant to hide… and nobody and certainly no lover had seen fit to unearth…

 

For Yessica Teufelstein had a secret… a secret so secret that sometime even she wasn’t so sure of it… and yet… some evil never rests in peace… and the dust never settles on it… ever…

A secret she had secretly… lovingly almost preserved… prevented from ever getting spoilt by the world around her… around it… all her life… a whole life of toil to hide the torment… the ailment… the torture… devouring her from inside… from deep… deeper and deeper within as time went by… always… always there… a secret so secret nobody even –and especially- her companion and confident had never been told… a secret sealed in the mould… folded… a secret going back to the dawn of times… to the dawn of her… of her origins…

 

 

Jesse CRAIGNOU

 

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Rédigé par Jesse CRAIGNOU

Publié dans #Nouvelles Histoires - Short Stories

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